


The Office

by n_nami



Series: 31 Cockles AUs in 31 days [21]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Office Workers AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3210758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_nami/pseuds/n_nami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Jensen/Misha stories - a new installment is posted every day throughout January 2015.</p><p>Nr. 21: Jensen is the Director of Sales and Misha is the PR guy. That's it. Or is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Office

With Jensen, it's all about body language.

Misha noticed it pretty early on, but then again, it wasn't hard to miss.

He's been in the company since before Jensen started in the sales team, before he made it to the position of leader of said sales team, and Misha's in PR – different department, not many intersections.

Except for the break room.

Misha's there at least three times a day, using the kettle to brew himself some tea, and Jensen seems to be quite the coffee addict. Lucky for him, their boss decided long ago that they've drunk enough Folger's to last a lifetime and got them a fully automated coffee machine some time last year. Since then, Jensen and Misha's paths cross even more frequently in the break room.

They usually just share a short nod, and depending on the time, a quick “Morning,” or “Hey,” but other than that, they've barely talked. Misha does enough talking at his desk, and Jensen – so he's heard – can charm anyone to buy whatever product he wants to sell to them.

Still, it's far from uncomfortable.

Misha, who's usually not known for respecting someone else's personal space, was never too bothered when Jensen leaned against the counter beside him. While Misha waited for the kettle to boil, and Jensen waited for his coffee to run through, they often shared a short smile. Even more often, their eyes tended to lock with each other's, and Misha can’t help but think of that rule that if you hold eye contact with someone for longer than six seconds, you're either plotting to kill them or you want into their pants.

Misha can admit that in his case, it's the latter.

Not only is Jensen ridiculously hot, he also knows it. He wears crisp white shirts that fit him to a T, and dark slacks that fall over the swell of his ass in a way that should be censored for being pornographic. His smile makes Misha's knees weak and he more often than not has to lean closer to the kitchen counter, just to hide the bulge in his own slacks. And that’s without even factoring in the effect that Jensen's green eyes have on him.

Relationships at work are a tricky thing. Misha is very much aware of that.

But it's the office. And Misha has friends in all departments, knows a lot of people from his former jobs in various other positions, and there's talk. It's like the whole company is a tiny village in bumfuck nowhere, where people's only daytime activity is gossiping about the other ten people who live in said village.

There's talk about Jensen. Some girl or other swears she's seen him in a gay bar in town, making out with a guy. Some other guy confirms he's seen Jensen having dinner with a girl. Chrissy, the mail girl, has a crush on him that defies any talk about the nature of his sexuality, and she's not alone.

Of course, Misha has wondered about it too, but Jensen made it pretty clear on one of their meetings in the break room. They were alone, and Misha was bent forward, watching the kettle, when the usual shadow fell over him as Jensen leaned his hip against the counter beside Misha. Which was unusual because he normally didn't face Misha. Misha had looked up then, and they shared a short, but intense look, before Jensen had said, “Misha, right?”

Misha had merely nodded.

“Would you pass me the sugar cubes, please, Misha?” Jensen had asked, his voice a slow grind that made Misha's brain short circuit and think of all the non PG-rated things that voice could say, whisper, moan to him.

Instead of losing himself in the fantasy, Misha had shaken it off, said, “Sure,” and handed the box over. Someone hadn't put it back in its usual place. Never mind the fact that Jensen must've observed this and noticed it from the second he walked into the break room.

Jensen had still been turned towards him, arms open, body stance relaxed, eyes subtly checking him out.

Misha had felt his cheeks heat up, which was all the more frustrating since he never blushed. Ever. Still, he had been unable to look away from Jensen, until the other man had grabbed for his full mug – without breaking eye contact – and smiled just a notch wider.

“I'll see you around,” he had said, casual as ever, before he walked past Misha at a distance that implied familiarity.

Misha hadn’t minded that so much as he minded his sudden erection.

It's been like that ever since, except that the glances became heavier, longer, and Jensen tended to turn his body fully towards Misha, arms crossed against his wide chest. Sometimes Jensen licked his lips when he noticed Misha biting down on his own with nervousness and arousal. By God, that man could light a spark in him with barely a blink of his eyes. It was downright scary.

It was unspoken between them, but it was there. They just didn't fuck around on the job.

Which was why it all came to a head on the company's Christmas party.

Their boss' personal assistant had gone all out, renting them an exclusive room in the city's most famous hotel, and the food and wine had been exquisite.

After some of their colleagues had already gone home or found others to chat with, Misha had retreated to the buffet area, where nobody hung around anymore. It felt good to get some air, some space away from the constant chatter of drunk co-workers, and Misha almost contemplated stepping outside for a moment – befor e  _he_ sh owed up.

Misha knew that shadow, and before he realized what was happening, Jensen was standing right in front of him, eyes drinking him in hungrily. “There you are,” he chuckled.

“Jensen,” Misha couldn't help but grin. “How're you enjoying the party?”

“Great, it's great,” Jensen mumbled, caught off guard. “But that really wasn't what I came here to talk about.”

“What's that, then?” Misha asked, dangling his glass of champagne in his hand, and leaned against the wall beside the buffet table.

Jensen looked even more delectable than usual with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, jacket long gone. There was a hint of his collarbone visible under his open collar, and Misha wanted to nibble along it, pepper kisses over it, lick up his neck until his tongue met stubble.

After another look around, Jensen took a step towards Misha, and it wasn't cocky arrogance like Misha expected, but scalding hot self-confidence that brought him right into Misha's personal space. Misha swallowed heavily.

“Misha,” Jensen whispered, almost groaned, the sexual energy between them sparking and sizzling. “We are on the same page, aren't we?”

Misha raised an eyebrow. “If that page says 'I've wanted to fuck you since the day I met you', then yes.”

Jensen chuckled, low and gravelly, deep in his throat, and Misha almost came in his pants. “Exactly that. And maybe more.”

“Good.”

“So, this is a hotel, right?” Jensen asked rhetorically, smirking, and Misha accepted that his wildest fantasy had just come true.


End file.
